


Try anything once

by Ladylibrary42



Category: Baldur's Gate
Genre: F/F, F/M, Mind Manipulation, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:33:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28475469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladylibrary42/pseuds/Ladylibrary42
Summary: “That feeling. The feeling of the dangerous unknown. THAT’S what I am.” -SvetlaniaSvetlania never cared for her life as a minor noble, it was excruciatingly boring. Honestly, being abducted by mindflayers is the best thing that ever happened to her...well after discovery of her otherworldly patron of course. Now bound to the other survivors and the psionic worm in her head, Svetlania finds herself in a position to push herself even closer to the delicious brink of the unknown. So much power out there and so many ways to get it...it’s enough to drive a woman mad with anticipation.My adventures in the new Baldur’s Gate game written as a story. Will probably add more once it’s out of beta.
Relationships: Astarion/Female Charname (Baldur's Gate)
Kudos: 6





	Try anything once

“I can’t believe you went through with it.” Wyll says grimacing at the burned mark of the Absolute raised and red on my palm.

As I flex my hand and look at him I catch a glimpse of Lae’zel eyeing it with a glimmer of respect. Not surprising, the githyanki is pretty easy to peg—if it’s tough she likes it. Easy to manipulate and strong of arm, a good companion. The thought crosses my mind and I carefully let it roll by quickly so it doesn’t get picked up in our collective chatter. 

The worm in my head twitches with awareness. 

“ _ Hush now. You are not needed.”  _

I can feel the hundred layers of intent as the worm reacts. Frustration, respect, obedience, domination, submission,  _ love.  _ So many feelings all at once. The most frustrating thing about the worm is not understanding...but it’s also the most appealing. 

As I lower my hand, the raw skin brushes my armor and I wince but give Wyll a smirk. “Something you should know about me, I’ll try anything once.” I turn away before Wyll can make a pass at that and lean down to rip the amulet off the carefully assassinated Priestess Gut. It too bears the mark and I can feel its power. I slip it on my neck where it sits warm and comfortable. “Shame, she wanted to kill me.”

Wyll snorts, “She’s a goblin. It’s only a matter of time before they all try to kill us.” 

As much as I hate to give credence to such a broad statement, Wyll was right. After some more trickery and another informative stint in the mindflayer’s (this time undead) mind, we had slain almost every goblin in the joint. Frustratingly, still no sign of the druid Halsin. Lae’zel’s tough girl whining was getting unbearable and I was getting bored when in a little alcove we found another non-goblin. A man, shirtless and covered in scars, a servant of the Mistress of Pain. 

The minute the words “dear one” dropped so deliciously from his lips I felt the urge. That beautiful feeling of standing on the edge of a dark hole. Your instincts saying don’t be stupid but your mind craving the unknown. Oh how it lights my blood on fire. Lae’zel and Wyll were already reaching for their weapons when the priest offered to give me some private ministrations. 

Once again watched by Lae’zel with more, albeit confused, respect in her eyes and Wyll’s disbelief mingled with sick curiosity, I accept the priest’s offer. After some brief instructions, he turns away to select his tools from a table of sharp instruments. I take the moment to admire his toned back, the scars somehow still paler than his almost porcelain skin. I take off my tunic, allowing the leather to catch and bring the shirt underneath with it. No point in getting things dirty.

I step into the alcove and face the wall. Blood cakes the floor, some still wet and the smell hits my nostrils and my body tenses, uneasy with my decision. It comes suddenly, the skillful blade slicing through the soft skin of my back and my vision flashes with searing pain. I know what he wants and I give it to him. I let myself scream in agony, the words from my lips begging for mercy. 

He responds with encouragement, his voice growing with ecstasy as he continues to cut into me. My knees give and I fall into the wall, my fingers clawing at the bloodstained stone. My back is hot with pain and the brand on my hand doesn’t even register as it digs into the wall. I try to do as the priest says and offer the pain to the goddess whom this ceremony is for. 

When it stops, my skin is feverish and the only sound is my hard breathing, the drip of my blood, and the echoes of my screams. 

“By the hells…” I hear Wyll whisper.

I am picked up and embraced. The priest, his voice like honey, praises my performance and promises me his mistress’s blessing. My brain goes from foggy with pain to sharp as the knife that cut me. I feel a surge of power and I flex my lingers again in familiarity.  _ More.  _ But it fades, the ability granted to me steady in my mind. Another prize for another offering. 

The priest looks at me, his face practically glowing, I reach and take his hand which still holds the bloody knife. I kiss his knuckles and the fingers fall loose, allowing me to take the blade myself. 

I hold out my hand to Wyll, who, being a bit of a bootlicker deep down, leans and retrieves my shirt, giving it to me and trying not to look at me at the same time. I put it on, hissing through the pain and noting that Lae’zel looks positively horny. I level my violet eyes on her and I swear there is actually sweat on her spotted brow. Without expression I turn and walk away. 

The greatest reaction, however, is the worm in my head who’s practically befuddled—which is terribly amusing. “ _ You crawled in here. You're stuck in my twisted mind little friend, enjoy the chaos.” _

I drink a few healing potions and more dead goblins later, we finally find the druid. He promises aid, but it's obvious from his stalling that he can’t help. Not that I mind, I don’t necessarily want the worm out, but I don’t want to turn into an illithid. 

I just need information. What’s illithid and what’s ‘the Absolute’? The woman from my dream, stunning with a voice thick with promises was a bit too easy to be the answer. Or at least the full one. So I’ll continue to play coy with the Absolute and be ironfisted with the worm and see why exactly ceremorphosis hasn’t happened yet. 

As expected, once out of cage and cave, Halsin confesses to being unable to help. After the obligatory githyanki cursing and crestfallen demon lover, I get as much information as possible from the druid along with his assistance. More sources of power, this time ancient and dark. I practically lick my lips in anticipation.

To prevent full collapse of the party, I redirect my followers to the githyanki creche approach. The likelihood of it panning out of slim to none. Odds are they will kill us all, but like I said, I’ll try anything once. 

Treading through the blood and gore spattered hills, we come along two more survivors, a potentially helpful, albeit a bit boring wizard whose best qualities are his polite phrases and mental fortitude, and a pale elf who gives me a bit of a tussle before realizing we are the same.

Astarion intrigues me. His red eyes and fangs put together by his offhand comment about “turning into a monster again” doesn’t make it hard to see what he is. The insomnia that veers from fey blood and into a more predatory scenario doesn’t help his ‘pale elf’ bit either. 

I’ve never met a vampire before and I’m eager to discover it’s perks. If imagining those fangs brushing over my skin isn’t perk enough. Or running my fingers through that blonde hair...mmmm I digress. 

The githyanki end up being an even worse idea than anticipated. We don’t even get to the creche before we are ordered to be executed. Lae’zel is gutted but the kith’za mentioned a polyhedral object of power and I put it on my wishlist as Lae’zel fawns over a map to the creche. 

When we return to the Grove, I enjoy watching Halsin chew out “the Viper” before informing the tieflings that they are safe. The celebration is planned without my bidding and before I know it, I’m at a party. Lozo—the entertaining bastard—wrote a pretty compelling ballad and the dancing starts. I let my mind open and ride the psychic wave. I find myself in the arms of many throughout the night. First Zolker, my mind unable to resist the eager target, the noble tiefling leader trying so hard to restrain his stares. 

We dance, his strong arms surprisingly adept at the art. My feet, trained from countless noble parties follow suit and we get some stares as we dance quickly through the music that picks up in pace. Our bodies hot as we move together and apart, brushing here and there or slamming into each other before twisting into a spin or turn. 

A kindhearted friend of his offers the poor conflicted man a drink, and as he eases up, we rest on a clump of grass, his fangs biting into lip and tail twisting up my leg. Although our session in the grass is enjoyable, it doesn’t go far, just enough to make a memory and my mind grows bored and eager to return to the pulsing throng of the party before things die down. I leave him with a last deep kiss and some parting words. I straighten my shirt, but I lost a button in the excitement and it dangles open. 

I return to the party and my return is heralded by more cheers and drinking. I enjoy the pleasant hum but am distracted by a more focused thought. I strike a basic conversation with one of the tieflings and glance to the side. Lae’zel is at the edge of the festivities, her eyes glaring  _ and wandering. _ I almost laugh at her crude attempts to manipulate our bond to catch my attention. I ignore her, if she wants something she’ll need to summon a bit more courage. 

It takes an embarrassing number of insulted drinks before she finally grabs me as I drift near the edge (I’m not that cruel). She spits some githyanki word, a term of affection or curse, I don’t know before pulling me roughly in for a kiss. Her insecurity, so clumsily buried under bravado and rudeness actually seems to lessen. She is clearly both experienced and rehearsed. For the uninvited kiss, I give her a bit of a mocking look but she’s too far gone. Her leading me into the dark would only be taken as platonic by the most drunk or foolish (which granted it most the company). 

For a moment she hesitates as if awaiting my rejection but I just stand expectantly, so she moves pulling me in again and effortlessly lifts me against a rock. She mutters some words about me being honored by her attentions but it drifts into her native speech and then ceases entirely. Pressed against the rock, my pants are removed and she tosses me onto the spot of grass and tears my shirt to shreds with her pointed teeth. She seems most comfortable in a domineering position so I follow her lead. 

Once she’s ready she pins my hands above my head and begins giving commands. I follow, the experience isn’t terrible and when her clawed hand clutches my throat, I’m surprised by the effect it has. But eventually this bores as well, and besides, I know what she really wants. 

I reach to where our minds have been brushing, far too absent so far and plunged my focus into her psyche, her body freezing on mine with the force of my command. I clasp her foggy and shaken mind tightly and then, with the gentlest touch, push the proud alien warrior off of me and down to the floor. Now I give the orders. She gives some obligatory proud refusals but she can’t deny how much more excited she is this way. 

As lovely as the situation is for me, I want to leave an impression so I cut it off short, giving her mind a squeeze, practically painful before leaving. Just a reminder of who she’s dealing with, least my ambiguity towards her boasting and threats be taken for acceptance. I leave her in the grass, satisfied, but well aware of how my threat to her is as palpable as her blade on my throat. 

A bit underdressed to return to the party and with my tent on the other side, I slip into Wyll’s. I retrieved my boots from the grass but I need more than shoes. I rummage through his bag, finding a spare tunic. It smells a bit, but will have to do. I put it on. Wyll’s own enjoyment of showing clavicle cutting a bit lower on my frail form, I lift his blanket from the bed to help cover myself.

“Oh! Uh…” 

I turn to see the man himself, a bit red, his real eye roaming sluggishly. Despite this, he seems to sober up a bit and straighten. I’m a bit surprised there’s no immediate quick line. I am after at his bed wearing nothing but his shirt. Eventually his mind catches up and it comes, “If this is what it looks like, I really hope I’m the doppelganger and the real me had the pleasure.”

I smile and throw his blanket around my shoulders before stepping towards him. He almost takes a step back, which makes me curious to confirm my suspicions. I take another step, reaching up to stroke his cheek. “It’s not too late now if you’re interested?”

He visibly swallows and takes my hand, our fingers intertwining before he returns it to me. “Don’t get me wrong, I would love to, but…” 

Here it comes. I cock my head innocently, the movement so obviously deceptive that he’s able to spit it out. He gives me a cocky smile, “I get the feeling you come with strings. Or at least that you’re much more dangerous than you seem.”

Smart boy. I drop the act and tap his chest, “That, Wyll, is growth. You’re right and I’m glad to see you don’t always think with your blade.” It was a cheap shot at his name but the man’s eye was wandering again and I could feel his resolve crumbling. Afterall, he’s no stranger to tricky lovers but that’s a repeat experience and has no interest for me. The jab cools him a bit and before he can respond, I slip into his head.

“ _ That feeling. The feeling of the dangerous unknown. THAT’S what I am.”  _

He becomes frightened and before that fear can turn to anger, I pat his arm fondly and exit the tent. A few party goers who aren’t passed out or in the arms of their own lovers give me an eyebrow but I ignore them, instead going to where Astarion is chatting up the tiefling bard. She seems to turn him down and escape, but I feel the relief coming from the pale elf. I try to be stealthy but it’s a two way street and he senses me coming.

Before turning he says, “You are quite the main attraction tonight.” As he turns to face me, it’s unclear whether that was a compliment or not. I give a small ambiguous smile in return and prod our mind link again. He raises a hand to his face and winces, “Don’t do that.”

It’s much less polite than Gale’s shutdown and that makes me curious. I press harder using the distraction to physically move closer. I see them again, the flashes of dark street, a dagger gripped in one hand. He tries to push me violently out but only manages to shut the door. I’m only two steps away. “How else do you suggest getting to know you?”

“Have you tried asking?” he says with barely contained anger.

I stop moving forward, instead pulling the blanket closer in the cool night breeze and lean against the boulder. “I have, if you recall. You’ve not been forthcoming.”

He actually scowls. “So you decided to take a trip into my mind. Not particularly polite or intelligent.”

“Oh, now why would that be?” I’m fishing and as that fact hits him, his tactics change. His red eyes narrow and now  _ he _ takes a step closer.

“While I appreciate the necessity of our alliance given our mutual problem, I don’t think that entitles us to each other’s life stories. You should walk away now.” 

He pushes on the link with the comment and I begin to move, but it’s just to make him drop his guard. I grab the tendril he extended and use it as a line in. The dark alley returns but then something new, a  _ hunger  _ sharp, painful, and never ending.”

“Ahhh there it is.” I hum with satisfaction. A feeling I’ve never felt. 

At that, his whole mood shifts and he takes that last step closer, our bodies only inches apart. 

“You know I don’t try hard to hide what I am. But it seems I may have misjudged you, or at least what you want. I thought—”

The answer comes unspoken through our link. He’s watched me tug the others around in a chorus and he’s tasted servitude before and was not in search of another master, no matter the appeal…

“I don’t hide what I am either,” I say and I drop the blanket so I can put my arms on his shoulders and  _ finally  _ run my fingers through his hair. “It’s not my fault not everyone is smart enough to notice.”

“A sentiment I share. And not the only one it appeals. Care to make this pointless celebration more fun?”

“That’s why I’m here,” I whisper into his ear and he inhales, his nose in my curls. 

“Well then, what are we waiting for?” He moves with uncanny speed and twists me until my arm is in his and, like a gentleman, escorts me to his tent, pushing the flap open with a bow. I don’t go far and when he joins me I’m already in arms reach. I slowly unbutton his doublet while he breathes deep again. 

“Is that...Wyll’s shirt?” he says with amusement. “I hope I’m not second choice.”

I shrug, “Not to Wyll. This is just borrowed, Ja’zael ruined mine.”

That mental picture freezes him a moment and he chuckles, “That is amusing enough. Well it stinks and does not become you.”

I let him take it off and he moves faster. My body seems to vibrate with warning that something is wrong with this man and I actually smile at the response. He takes off his doublet and when he turns to toss it aside, I spy a tangle of scars on his back, forming a circle of runes. I reach out and touch them. His skin is cold. 

“Ah.” He straightens at my touch, “Yes, those are a token of my old master Cazador, he was fond of painting pictures and his slaves were often his canvas.” 

“What do they say?” I ask curious, the runes tempting.

Astarian shrugs, “I can’t exactly see them, so how would I know? But we didn’t come here to talk.”

“Something in common is all,” I say and turn to show my own recently acquired painting of pain. 

“My, my, you are full of surprises.” His hands run down my arm, and he kisses between my shoulders. “Not anyone I know I hope?” he teases.

“A priest of Loviatar, it was an enlightening experience.”

“The Mistress of Pain hmm? Is that your thing?”

I act offended. “That you would think I was only one thing.”

“But you are darling, you are mine.” 

I lean back onto the bedroll, trying not to shiver with anticipation. The party is now far gone and my mind is more in the moment. 

“That was the idea, wasn’t it?” I give him a heavy look, well aware how few people can look past my eyes, the violet rings bright against my black sclera. I brush my curls to the side and turn my head. “Well don’t keep me waiting.” 

My bare throat offered, he descends. I gasp as his fangs sink in. I’ve never been bitten by a vampire before and although I’ve read they have some sort of venom, it’s another to feel it course through my veins as they empty. I writhe under him, my blood burning, his body cooling the fire. Pain mixes with pleasure and we both lose ourselves a little, our minds mingling until we can’t tell who’s who. 

The satisfaction of vampire venom mixed with the albeit temporarily sated thirst is almost too much. Astarion, at least familiar with one of the sensations, is able to break free and, my blood red on his lips, isn’t distracted. Still reeling, I almost don’t feel him enter into me. I manage to focus and turn myself to a new sense of pleasure. Astarion is an experienced lover and we both are satisfied quickly, a kind gesture since my drained body is still weak. 

I fall asleep, cooled in his arms.

Red eyes greet me when I wake. “Good morning, darling.” He brushes some hair from my face. “I admit that was even more than I expected and I’ve been expecting quite a bit since I saw you”

There’s something different about him. I instinctively reach out to our link but quickly realize it’s more physical than mental. He seems...more alive, stronger. More here. 

“Agreed. You seem well off for it.”

He sighs with deep satisfaction. “Despite appearances, it has been a long time since I had a drink. Wild boar only does so much.”

That does surprise me, I’d assumed he’d been nibbling on the side, gods know there’s been enough blood around. I find my lids drooping. I’m a bit weak still, perhaps I should have stopped him earlier. He caresses my cheek. “I apologize if I went too far, I’ll make it up to you by assuring not a soul touches you today. You can summon all the energy bolts and cold tentacles you want, but you won’t have to so much as lift that knife you’re so fond of.”

I hum, “Good. Now move your arm, I’m still tired.” 

Astarion chuckles but obliges and I turn to roll into him, his cool chest on my back and his arm making a wonderful pillow. He plays with my curls, tucking them behind my pointed ear. 

“I will miss the sight of your lovely eyes while you sleep. Such amethysts I have never seen.”

“They were a gift.” I answer ambiguously. “Strange eyes seem to be a common theme lately.”

“We could start a club, ah, but then we’d have to invite Wyll. While I admire anyone who’d bed a demon, he is a bit of a buzzkill. Not to mention tempting as hell.”

I snort as his turn of phrase, but let myself drift back to sleep. 

This time it’s shouting and a sharp pain in my head that wakes me as the tadpole writhes in response to the mental agitation outside. I look around for clothes, but remember where I am. Since tight breeches and ruffles aren’t my style, I once more don the blanket. I feel a bit woozy as I stand but it passes and I squint outside into the sun.

“Give me one reason why I shouldn’t take off your head right now!” Wyll shouts, his blade pointed at a nonchalant looking Astarion. Lae’zel is holding her weapon as well, but less pointedly. Gale looks twitchy but also just interested. 

“Quite simply I haven’t done anything wrong.”

“We all felt you draining her, she—” Wyll spots me and his sword lowers. “Svetlania, are you alright?”

I scowl. “I was sleeping peacefully until you woke me up.”

His eye lowers to my throat, where I imagine there are a number of marks. Before his question is asked I wave a hand. “I’m fine, just calm down for a second.” 

I focus and the ripples of so many tadpoles all on the same topic make a fine stage. I see the cause of the commotion. Our revelry last night echoed, vague pictures of me pale, fangs dripping with blood. I go ahead and fill some gaps until Wyll holds up a hand.

“Alright, that’ll do, we don’t need a play by play.”

Gale mutters, “Speak for yourself.” Astarian gives him a wink and I raise an eyebrow. 

I gesture to my blanket toga and say to Gale, “Would you do me a favor?”

Gale nods and goes to fetch me some clothes. I rub my eye. “Now that we’ve established that everything was consensuel and there is no honor or murder to be avenged, can we have breakfast?”

“I suppose.” Wyll sheathes his sword.

“I already had breakfast, but go ahead. I’m going on a walk,” Astarion remarks and Wyll rolls his eye.

I thank Gale when he returns and step back in Astarion’s tent to change. Impressively there’s not a drop of blood despite how much left my body. Though I suppose if what Astarion said was true, it was too precious a commodity to waste.

With only a bit of mental nudging, the point of Astarion’s vampirism is soon accepted and, true to his word, the rogue protects me almost to the point of annoyance. It’s apparent that he is, in fact, sorry he went so far. His fighting has more spirit in it as well and I make a note to make sure he feeds more often.

At last we find a lead to the Moonrise Tower. Gale and I solve the puzzle in the Selunite temple and find a passage to the Underdark. I peer down, my vision shifting to greyscale as my eyes grant me darkvision. “Well given what we are going into, Wyll and Astarion, let’s go.”

“You think you can survive without me?” Lae’zel asks with her normal cockiness and I try not to be amused by the feeling of rejection that lurks beneath the words. Sorry, that was a one time thing. 

“You can’t see in the dark, and no one wants your sword swinging blindly.”

“But Wyll and you are….oh, ah, I see. Nevermind,” Gale says before we look at him with our three eyes and he figures it out. “I’ll just stay at camp with Lae’zel then.” His lack of excitement is palpable and Lae’zel spits more githyanki curses.

“Looks like we have our club after all, darling,” Astarion whispers in my ear before giving a bow and sweeping his arm towards the tunnel. “After you?”

Wyll nods and takes the first step in. For a moment he hesitates, but his eye must adjust as mine did. I wonder if the sending stone in his right socket helps as well? 

The tunnel goes down and down until we meet a giant portcullis. There are petrified drow scattered about but that doesn’t deter us from going through and into the proper Underdark. At the first glittering cloud of spores, a new voice touches our mind.

_ They are coming. You are coming. _

“Seems we are expected,” Astarion remarks, shaking the voices out of his head. I try to catch them and follow but it’s too distant. 

It’s deathly quiet in the underdark and as we navigate a rocky path, Wyll comments offhandly, “I’ve kill giant bats, but never hunted a vampire.”

Astarion lowers himself from one boulder to another. “Well I’m just a spawn so I wouldn’t count anyway,” he lands and straightens his doublet, “but if you're in the market I have a few I could recommend.”

Any response is cut off as the ground shakes and we tumble to the floor which bursts open and a large creature tears through, showering us with rocks before vanishing back into the earth.

“Was that a bullette?” I ask incredulously, but my two companions just shrug. I shake my head. “Let’s keep moving.” I wouldn’t want to face one of those without Lae’zel’s sword at my side. It’s probably the only thing that could penetrate that armor.

We walk quietly from then on, not eager to draw anymore attention. Finally, we meet the source of the mental voice. A colony of myomeanth. The collective mind is fascinating, so similar yet so different from the worm. But the experience of the mushroom creatures was nothing compared to the Society of Brilliance.

A terribly polite purple hobgoblin, appropriately fascinated by our condition, mentions a friend who can help. “Obeleum, come here.”

“ _ This better be important. I am in the middle of a sensitive experiment.” _

The voice touches in a hauntingly familiar way and I can’t help but gasp as the tentacled, illithid form of Obeleum floats out of the stone wall. It too wears the symbol for the Society of Brilliance. I push pass Wyll’s mental nudging and introduce myself and my problem. 

Obeleum is incredibly understanding, apologizing for our experience and asking for permission to help. I am giddy with delight. After more than half a dozen other people claiming to understand, for once I have confidence. Obeleum will know what is different about our worms, one way or another. 

With a waving hand to Wyll and Asterion, plus a prayer of gratitude that Lae’zel isn’t here, I offer up my mind to the mindflayer. Obeleum is gentle but effective. The worm squirms uncomfortably in my skull but Obedium continues to ask permission each step and I urge him on. Eventually he even slides a tentacle behind my eye in search of diagnosis. The intrusion is much more welcome than Loro’s needle, not to mention more effective. 

Obeleum gives me the results of his search and finally I have some answers. Something—or someone—has the worm in stasis. It’s growth stopped. 

The Absolute. 

Whether she is a greater illithid mind from another plane or deity as she claims, neither Obeleum nor I have the answer. However, with the correct mushrooms, Obeleum could slip pass the stasis and get more information. I thank the Society and promise to return.

“Well you seem awful chipper for someone who’s had a mindflayer in her head twice,” Astarion notes.

I smile. “I lived didn’t I. And what an experience. I never dreamed we’d find a mindflayer unattached to a hive. Now I wish I hadn’t bothered with all the other diagnosis.”

“No, you don’t. You’re crazy and a glutton for punishment.” Wyll snorts. 

I frown. “Wrong again. While some of those experiences were helpful.” I hold up and glance at my branded hand. “Others were a horrid waste of time and—”

My words are cut off as I am sent flying backwards, cracking my head painfully against a rock. I hear arcane words rip from Wyll’s lips and I try to focus. I blink just in time to see our new bovine enemy charging towards me again. I reach and wrap my hand in the worm’s power, and vanish, reappearing at Wyll’s side, the minotaur’s horns breaking the rock I’d been in front of into rubble.

Astarion runs up some stones and leaps down at a second minotaur, his blades cutting into its surprised throat.

“You alright?” Wyll asks as his eye flashes with magic hexing the first minotaur and he raises his blade. 

I can feel blood running down my back and I don’t have a lot to spare but I hiss, “Fine. Take it down.”

He obediently runs forward and I reach out, purple lightning blasting from my hand and forming a chain between me and my enemy. Between my witchbolt and Wyll’s sword we finish off the beast and turn to find Astarion bleeding, half gutted by the horn of the dead minotaur at his own feet.

He stumbles and I rush forward, grabbing his arm. “Potion!” I snap at Wyll and he fumbles in his back. 

“Sorry...I didn’t...keep my promise…” Astarion wheezes but I ignore it and snatch the bottle from Wyll, tearing off the cork with my teeth and practically jamming down Astarion’s throat.

The magical healing takes a worrying second to kick in, but slowly the window to the elf’s insides closes and his breathing becomes more steady. I help him to his feet but stumble a bit myself, my legs wobbly.

Wyll holds up a potion. “We’ve got one more left,” he offers me but I shake my head, wincing as it aggravates the broken skin of my scalp.

“No. Save it for an emergency. I’ll treat this the old fashioned way and perhaps it’s best we call it a night.”

The two men watch me warily, my annoyance most likely vibrating to their minds through our link. Potions, scrolls, it’s a bloody pain to rely on such things. If only we had our own healer.

For a moment a face flashes in my mind, wide eyed, frantically pounding the organic pod she was trapped in. I frown. I’d recognized the icon of Shar on the woman, but I’d been unable to free her on the ship and assumed she died in the crash. Why think of her now? 

I shake my head, the throbbing preventing me from thinking clearly—a sensation I do not like.

Astarion moves to check my wound, but Wyll brushes him off, concerned about the blood. There’s some biting words between the two but it’s all petty and is brushed from my mind by my growing headache. 

Wyll cleans the gash and my bloodied curls best he can and I manage a word of thanks before lying down on the bedroll Astarion laid out. I can feel him wanting to join me but hesitant after Wyll’s rebuttal. I don’t say anything and he stalks off as I attempt to focus my increasingly buzzing thoughts.

Something is happening but I can’t pinpoint it. I try to trace the effect but fall asleep from the effort. My dreams of luminescent spores and caressing darkness are interrupted and I sit up quickly, the worm in my head squirming.

“What the—” Wyll starts and I turn my eyes to the darkness to my left. A woman steps out, her armor gleaming in the dim luminescence of the cave and her face gaunt and wide eyed.

“You’re here. Just like it told me,” she says, her voice exhausted, “it took me so long to find you.”

I study her closely, it’s the Sharite from the ship, the one I saw. My sore head cautiously reaches out.

She winces. “No questions. I can’t...concentrate with all the voices. The whispering...it won’t let me sleep. It keeps pushing me to you.” Her voice grows more agitated and I see Wyll slowly reach and grab his sword.

Slowly I stand and her eyes follow mine, a bit of an insane glimmer in them. “Even when I’m awake, I dream. There’s blood, so much blood.” There’s a flicker of movement. Her hand reaching for a knife in her belt. I delve into her mind, searching for her tadpole, to stop it’s control.

But it’s not the tadpole. A chorus of voices ring out in her mind, relentless whispers, her mind frayed from the onslaught.

“Something is wrong with your mind.” I whisper, my fingers twitching with curiosity.

She recoils. “How do I make them stop?”

I lower my voice, it’s tone soothing, “Stay with me. I’ll watch over you.”

“Stay? I can stay?” She shudders. 

Approaching her, hands out like I’m soothing a frightened animal, I nod.

Her hand drops from her knife. “It’s...it’s quieter now. Is that what they wanted?”

I step forward and her eyes roll up in her skull and she collapses. I grab her but she’s heavy and I fall to my knees. “Hush, now,” I murmur into her black hair, her mind now quiet and peaceful.

“Who the hells is that?” Wyll asks stepping forward to pull the woman off me. She falls to the ground like a rag doll and I give Wyll a frown. 

“Another survivor of the crash. I actually met her while we were in the hells. She was trapped in a pod but I couldn’t get her out. I thought she was dead.” I gently roll her into a more comfortable position, placing her pale hands on her chest on the symbol of her goddess.

“Is she already undergoing ceremorphosis? Is that why she was…” he rolls a finger by his temple and I scowl. Honestly, did he see any tentacles?

“That wasn’t the tadpole...or at least I don’t think so. It was different.”

“And what was that about what ‘they’ wanted?”

“The whispers,” I answer vaguely. I pull my knees up, staring at the collapsed priestess, cleric by the look of her armor. It was too convenient. I wanted a healer and some mad whispers drive one right into my lap. 

It was a gift...but from who? Surely not Shar, seems a bit hard on her follower even for a traditionally ‘evil’ goddess. No, this tasted of the Absolute, this  _ being  _ who seems so interested in me.

“ _ And what, pray tell, do you want in return for this gift, I wonder?” _ I think but receive no answer.

Wyll’s agitated and I have to handle things. “Clearly there’s some sort of negative effect to our bond, we should be grateful we found each other quickly and didn’t have to go through what she did. Let her rest and I’m sure we’ll find out more when she wakes.”

That incites the sympathy needed and Wyll backs up, a bit sheepish. I let him explain things to Astarion when he finally slinks back into camp. He eyes the cleric with some distaste but when he comes to check on me, I persuade him to bed. As I tuck against him, I let myself rest, certain Shadowheart would need time and I can rest easy.

Shadowheart. Strange. How did I know her name?


End file.
